Sanopi
by taralynden
Summary: A confused Prowl wanders the streets of Sanopi, unaware that all he sees is an illusion and that in reality he is dying.
1. The downward slope

Inspired by an idea seen on the bunny farm.

Pairing: Prowl/Jazz

Disclaimer: Elton John & Tim Rice own 'Friends never say goodbye'; HasTak, etc., own Transformers and keep all the profits; I just write about them.

//blah// is bond-speak, *blah* is Cybertronian

* * *

Chapter 1 - The downward slope

Prowl stared out the window, mesmerised by the passing crowds. No-one wore any factional symbols. No-one bore any visible weapons at all. Across the causeway, a Seeker with bright blue optics was flirting outrageously with a green-opticed dockworker while a Guardian looked on benevolently. Further down the street, he could see a minibot vendor haggling with a tall mech that could have been a double for Shockwave if not for the bright red and yellow colouration, and a small group of winged femmes were waiting impatiently behind him to be served.

"My apologies for keeping you waiting. I trust the accommodation is to your liking?"

He turned, startled by the voice, and found a grey and orange mech standing a few steps away. How had he gotten there? Even if Prowl had not heard him, his doorwings should have registered the stranger's presence in the room.

"Where am I?"

"You're safe. Here, have some oil - you look like you could use it."

He disregarded the offer.

"Who are you? How did I get here?"

"Easy now, there's no need to rush. I am Greeter."

"Greeter?"

"Because it's my job to welcome new arrivals. And you are...?"

Prowl drew his doorwings up.

"Prowl, Autobot tactician and second in command under Optimus Prime."

His host did not seem impressed.

"Prowl. Welcome, Prowl. You'll find we're quite informal here."

"Just where _is_ here? And how did I get here?"

"This is Sanopi. Not as prestigious as any of the Torus states, but a pleasant enough location for travellers to rest."

Prowl hesitated. The Torus states were on Cybertron. So was this Sanopi also there? The dome that he now noticed shielding the city from the open sky suggested that perhaps it was, as did the architecture and the number of Cybertronians he could see bustling about. Was this a city he was supposed to know about? How had it survived all this time, undetected? And how had he gotten here?

"I was in a battle..." he began uncertainly, finding it remarkably difficult to access his last memories.

Had he not been on Earth? How had he gotten to Cybertron?

"Oh I wouldn't know anything about that." Greeter assured him. "We're a peaceful lot, here. All weapons left at the gates, as you know."

As he knew? Suggesting that he _should_ know. Yet he was sure Jazz had never mentioned this place in any of their many discussions of Cybertron.

"We take in many travellers such as yourself - mechs and femmes who are somewhat confused about whether to go forward or turn back. But everyone makes a decision in the end, and you will too. Ah, but I am being summoned. Forgive me. I'll leave this oil here for you, and of course there's a recharging port there by the berth if you're weary. When you feel ready, please explore as you wish - you can identify any of the guides by this mark if you have any questions."

He gestured to a strange symbol of interlinked circles on his shoulder.

"Guides?" Prowl echoed, feeling lost.

"Yes. Those who have chosen to stay. To help the travellers."

* * *

Everyone had seen it happen.

Optimus had been down, Ironhide was offline, the twins were too far away. Megatron had had a clear shot and had charged up his cannon to take it. The battle had been fierce, raging for nearly a joor, and there were many injured on both sides. Most of the Decepticons had already begun to retreat but this opportunity had come up and Megatron would take it.

Almost everyone froze in place, waiting. Almost. One mech moved.

He was too far away from Prime to protect him in any normal fashion, but he took the next best option: he shifted to stand between the two faction leaders just as Megatron fired. His interference saved Prime's life, but threw him into the air to the sound of a dozen gasps of horror from one side and shrieks of triumph from the other, and then the battle was back on.

Everyone had seen it happen, and those on the far right of the field looked to their own group commander in apprehension. He had cried out in a strangled denial just before the event then had fallen silent, rifle dropping from numbed fingers as he watched the strike land. One of the mechs took a hesitant step towards him, not sure what to say or do, then stopped.

Abruptly the frozen witness was in motion, running heedless of the laser fire around him. His team mobilised quickly to try to defend him. If there was a chance, any chance at all, then they had to protect him. Had to protect them both. They had to at least try.

* * *

"Excuse me."

"How can I help you?"

"Please direct me to a medic."

The femme looked at him blankly.

"A medic? Is something wrong?"

"Yes. I am having memory recall issues."

She shook her head slowly.

"I'm afraid we don't have any medics permanently situated here. There are very few with that training, and none that have passed by recently."

In a way, her flustered response was a relief. This place had something of a surreal feel to it and he had started to fear it was some kind of elaborate trap. It may still be, he knew, but it made sense that they had no trained medics. _If_ this place was what it seemed to be, then it was basically a well-concealed Neutral haven. Any medic they found would be a major target and thus put the community at risk from both the Autobot and Decepticon sides: medics were highly valued commodities. Still, it meant that he was left without any answers for his faulty memory.

Thanking the guide, he continued to make his way down the street slowly, observing everything he could. Try as he might, he could not determine what he had last been doing. It made no sense. All memory data was tagged with at least date, time and location, so he should have been able to establish some kind of time frame. Yet his memories were jumbled, fragmented, disconnected from their supposedly-embedded metadata.

As he walked he tried to access them and received only incoherent flashes: laser fire; making a report to Prime; gasping in pleasure as Jazz caressed him and they both approached overload... For an instant there he felt something, almost like a data packet from his bondmate: a jolt of pain and confusion and fear. But it passed as quickly and inexplicably as it had come and he shook his head dazedly.

Probably just another memory flash. Primus knew they had had their share of fearful times when the other had been damaged. None of this helped him establish a theory about how he had come to be in this strangely peaceful place. Resolving to find an answer, he strode on.

* * *

First Aid reached Prowl just before Jazz did and managed to vocalise the order for him to stay back. It was harsh, but he needed space to work. He dared not look up at the distraught saboteur, could not afford to spare him any attention as he began working to save the quickly fading tactician. The only option was to focus, and so he did.

The patient was in a critical and unstable condition. The blast had stripped him of much of his torso armour as well as his right doorwing and arm and a goodly portion of his right leg. Fluid lines were emptying themselves into the dirt around him while stripped wiring arced and spat. His pump was failing, his optics already dulled, his CPU mostly shut down.

The initial diagnosis came back as 'hopeless', but he ignored it. Prowl's death here would mean two deaths in the short term and likely many more in the future. He needed to survive. He had to.

* * *

The city was deceptively larger than it had appeared from his window. Or perhaps his view had simply been closer to the city walls and he had somehow been diverted back towards the centre. Not entirely unlikely, given how poorly his navigational systems were functioning.

Still, it was becoming alarming. After walking for more than a joor he still had not reached the city walls, and the curve of the dome still seemed a long way off, and now he was beginning to regret not taking a nap or at least some sustenance first.

When he stumbled with the next step, he stopped in his tracks. This was ridiculous. He would need to find somewhere to rest, something to consume. Likely energon was in very short supply here, hence the offer of oil, but he needed _something_ to bolster his flagging systems or he would simply collapse in the street.

Looking about himself, he spotted a mech sporting the 'guide' symbol talking to a small group of minibots. Moving closer, he then waited while they conversed - after all, this was not urgent, and it would be rude to interrupt. He was not sure why he had not rested in the first place if his energy levels were so low, but that was his own miscalculation and not the fault of anyone else. Still, he hoped the conversation ended soon. He could feel his systems beginning to shut down in protest.

* * *

Smokescreen kept a firm hold on Jazz's arm with one hand, shooting when necessary with the other. Trailbreaker was on Jazz's other side and was occupied ensuring a forcefield over the surgical area so that the medics could work undisturbed. Many of the Autobot forces had grouped around them, forming a defensive circle, but he knew the key players were unaware.

He was not a medic, but he knew when an injury was fatal - he had seen enough death on the battlefield to recognise a losing battle when he saw one. The rapid greying of Prowl's remaining extremities was a very bad sign. The sheer amount of fluid pooling around him was another. But perhaps the most telling sign was that he had neither moved nor spoken since they arrived: not a flinch, not a moan, nothing.

Smokescreen's sensors registered a large presence to his left and he turned to see Optimus limp up to them.

"Ratchet?" Prime asked simply.

"Don't bother me now!" the medic snapped, then glanced around. "Jazz. Get over here and tell this slagger he's not to go giving up on us. You hear me? He's going to pull through this, he just has to fight for it!"

Jazz did not move for a few clicks, then slipped forward to kneel gracefully by Prowl's shoulder. Everyone watched silently, but Smokescreen wondered how many truly believed this would work. Coaxing from his bondmate notwithstanding, Prowl was dying: Smokescreen would have laid odds on it.

* * *

"Can I help you?"

Prowl stared at the unfamiliar mech blankly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Can I help you? You look tired. Perhaps you would like to rest?"

He looked about himself dazedly. For a moment he had thought he felt Jazz holding him, heard his bondmate calling to him. But that was ridiculous. Jazz was nowhere in sight, and the bond did not allow for long distance communication of that sort. Then he noticed he was on some kind of transport. A Cybertronian barge?

"Where... am I? Where are you taking me?"

The guide - or so Prowl assumed he was, since he bore one of those strange symbols - smiled at him kindly.

"You said you wanted to go this way. Don't worry, I'll see you safely home."

"Home?"

Jazz. Home was where Jazz was. But Jazz was on Earth, not Cybertron. Wasn't he?

"Just rest, relax. It'll all be over soon."

Something in those words bothered him, but he was so tired. So very tired. Perhaps if he just recharged for a few moments it would help.

* * *

Jazz bowed his head, putting all his energy into projecting himself through their bond, searching hard for any sign at all that Prowl was acknowledging his presence.

//Prowl? Answer me! Come back to me!//

There was no answer. Prowl was so weak, it felt like he might shatter completely at a touch. And where there was not just exhaustion and frailty, there was pain. The medics were working frantically to turn off every receptor and sensor and to stop the fluid loss and close the damaged circuits, but it was all too slow.

//Don't you leave me. Don't leave me alone. Please, Prowler. You've got to answer me. You've got to fight.//

Nothing. And then he felt something slip.

"No!"

* * *

Prowl jolted back online, feeling shaken. For an instant, he thought he had heard Jazz screaming in fear. Cool hands held him still and he stared up and unfamiliar faces. Then his optics focused on the room beyond them. A mausoleum?

"Easy." a femme murmured, stroking his face comfortingly. "Relax. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"What are you doing to me?" he gasped, struggling to sit up.

He was weak, so painfully weak, but he was not going to let them inter him when he still had so much as a flicker of energy in his spark.

//Jazz!// he called out, panicking. //Help me!//

There was no response but at that moment he noticed that his recharging cable was extended and plugged into a socket. Yet instead of providing him with energy, this connection was draining him of it. They were killing him! Struggling harder, he tried to free one of his arms to pull it out. Seemingly resigned to let him act, they all stepped back to let him try, but to his horror he realised he was too weak to lift his arm. He quite simply lacked the energy to rescue himself, even when it was so simple.

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered as his vision began to flicker and stall.

"We are doing nothing." the femme told him calmly. "This was your choice."

My choice? he wanted to ask. But he lacked the energy to vocalise.

* * *

Bluestreak glanced nervously at Ratchet, praying for a miracle but fearing the worst. Jazz's scream had silenced and stilled everyone - including the enemy - and then he had darted forward, gathering Prowl's broken, greying frame into his arms, keening so loudly that even the medics had been forced to back off. But then, a click later, he had gone silent and still. What did it mean? In the unnatural silence they could all still hear Prowl's systems straining so he was still with them. Barely, but still there.

Ratchet met Bluestreak's gaze briefly, then stepped forward purposefully, First Aid following with far less certainty but just as much determination. And then they all heard the sound of approaching jet engines. Fearing the worst, Bluestreak tore his gaze away from Jazz and Prowl and lifted his rifle. But instead of a Seeker or Conehead, he saw a larger form. Skyfire.

* * *

From somewhere, he found just enough energy to pull out the cable. He was dazed, confused. Distantly he could hear someone babbling and it reminded him of Bluestreak but the voice belonged to Jazz. He smiled to himself. Jazz would be quite offended if accused of babbling - that was simply not his style. Still, that soft lilting voice most definitely belonged to his lover. If only he could actually hear the words, but they were too quiet and he had no energy to focus his audials.

He had no idea where he was, now. Everything was dark, or perhaps his optics had just given out. There was no further drain on his energy, but no input either. He was cold and tired and all he wanted to do was rest. But so long as that voice spoke, he would wait. Just in case it came closer.

* * *

Optimus stepped forward and laid a gentle hand on Jazz's shoulder. He understood his lieutenant's desire to cling to his critically wounded lover - he knew his reaction would be much the same were it Elita lying here - but if they did not get Prowl on board Skyfire and headed back to the Ark they would most certainly lose him. They had to act now if there was to be any chance at all. Ratchet and First Aid had done the best they could, working around the trembling saboteur, but now they had to go. Jazz was not responding to vocal cues, so Optimus was trying tactile contact. If this did not work either, he was not sure what he would do.

"We're ready." Ratchet announced. "If we're going to move him, now's the time."

Optimus nodded, but then let his hand drop down to his side. He could not bear to pull Jazz away, not when it may be their last moments together. Yet what other choice was there? Only one.

"Autobots - gather around. We'll move them both together."

* * *

A little warmth seeped into him. A little energy. Not much, and with it came pain, but there was also something else.

//Jazz.// he murmured gratefully, revelling in the feeling of his bondmate's proximity.

The chattering voice carried on, words slurring together incoherently, but he felt a flicker of recognition. Jazz was nearby; it was enough. He onlined his optics and found them mirrored by a blue visor. Staring in wonder at the beauty in that rich azure colour, he barely noticed when the voice stopped. So beautiful. So close. Close enough to touch, if he only had the energy to move.

//Stay.// Jazz begged him. //Please.//

Stay? Well of course he would stay. Now that Jazz was here, everything would be fine.

//Don't leave me.//

He had no intention of doing so. He just needed to rest a bit.

//Please. Please, Prowl, stay with me. Stay.//

His vision was becoming fuzzy again, but he could still see that blue. That beautiful blue.

//I love you.// he responded tiredly, wishing he could touch that brilliant colour.

A finger trailed down his cheek, but it was not one of those strange guides this time; this touch was familiar.

//Stay.//

//You're so beautiful, you know that? How did I ever deserve you?//

//Keep flattering me, just stay. Please. Please stay.//

The blue light was so intense, to the point where it was starting to hurt, but he kept the visual feed online.

//So beautiful. So blue.//

//Prowl?//

//I love your optics. The blue... so soothing...//

//Prowl, you're not making sense. You need to focus.//

He smiled. He had no energy to physically move, but within Jazz's arms he did not need to. He _pushed_, projecting an image of himself reaching up into an endless blue expanse that was the precise shade of Jazz's visor when the other mech was overloading. It was one of the joys of being bonded, being able to express that kind of complex thought in an instant, and he felt Jazz respond in shock.

//Prowl...//

//Love you. Always.//

* * *

Ratchet heard First Aid's gasp of shock and he looked up to glare at his assistant intently.

"Have you finished with that bypass yet?"

The Protectobot stared at him, his hands shaking in reaction to what his diagnostic sensors were telling him, and Ratchet reached across to grip his arm roughly.

"The bypass. Get it done."

There were too many onlookers to let the junior medic break down now, and he was relieved to see First Aid nod jerkily and turn back to his task.

"Half a breem to landing." Skyfire announced to the mechs crowded into his hold. "Blaster reports Swoop, Wheeljack and Perceptor are waiting in the bay."

"Have Swoop and Perceptor move to the conference room and triage the others." Ratchet ordered. "And tell Jack to have the isolation ward set up for surgery. We won't have much time to spare."

"Ratch," Jazz spoke up hoarsely, his visor dim, "he... he's not responding to me anymore..."

"He's with us for now." Ratchet told him callously. "And he's slagging well going to _stay_ that way."

"But..."

Skyfire interrupted Jazz's question with a warning about their imminent arrival and Ratchet was relieved. The truth was, Prowl's spark could fade at any instant now; his pump could stop. Already his CPU had stalled, and that was far from good. With every passing click, it became increasingly likely that it may be too corrupted to ever be retrieved. They may end up saving Prowl's body but not his mind. But if they did not try, they would lose him completely and Jazz with him. They had to try.

* * *

There was a tune stuck in his processor and he could not quite identify it. Jazz would likely know, but the musician was not about. In fact, no-one was. He was perfectly alone. It should worry him, but it did not. He could feel Jazz nearby, and that was enough to make him feel safe.

"What is done has been done for the best." he sang with sudden confidence, but then could not identify the next line.

Giving up, he adjusted his position slightly to get more comfortable. It was surreal how everything seemed so distant. Like he could fall through the ground he was lying on and just keep going. Silly. Illogical. He sighed, then grimaced, noting that the one line he remembered was cycling endlessly in his processor now. Irritating. Perhaps the only solution was to shut down. That should get rid of it, and he could do with a charge. He was tired.

"For the best." he muttered to himself.

Why did the song make him feel sad? Strange. No, too hard to identify. Time to rest. Jazz would wake him when he arrived, and until then he had nothing better to do.

* * *

to be continued...


	2. On the edge of despair

Disclaimer: Elton John & Tim Rice own 'Friends never say goodbye'; HasTak, etc., own Transformers and keep all the profits; I just write about them.

//blah// is bond-speak, *blah* is Cybertronian

* * *

Chapter 2 - On the edge of despair

Sunstreaker stood at the back of the room, leaning against a wall with his arms folded. He did not want to be here, but Sideswipe was injured and had been confined to quarters until a medic could get to him and had wanted to know what was happening with Prowl. Deep down Sunstreaker wanted to know too, he just did not want to be hanging around here with everyone else to find out. He hated the endless speculation, and he could have done without having to watch Jazz looking so broken.

Quite what was going on there, he was not sure, but he was not convinced it was just shock which was the accepted explanation. Just before Skyfire had landed he had started saying something about his connection to Prowl but Ratchet had brushed it off. When they had whisked Prowl away, Jazz had been left in a dazed heap on the hold floor staring at the space where the injured mech had been moments before, and he had needed assistance to get to the repair bay.

Pinpoint and Bluestreak were with him now, and the longer the surgery ran the more positive they became - after all, it would have been over much quicker if it was as serious as it had first appeared. But Jazz barely responded to them, his visor dimmed and his bearing uncommonly awkward.

The room hushed abruptly as the door opened and Ratchet stepped out, wiping his hands. He grunted when he saw them all, but just subspaced the cloth and squared his shoulders.

"He's stable." he said shortly.

His words set off a round of cheering, and Sunstreaker smirked as he slipped out to give Sideswipe the good news. It seemed that their days of being called to task by the annoyingly by-the-book tactician were not yet up.

* * *

Ratchet closed the door to his office and looked at the mechs inside. Optimus still needed some body work after his injuries in the battle, but he was functional for now; Jazz was distracted, fidgeting and constantly glancing out towards where Prowl was resting.

"Get on with it, doc." Jazz said abruptly. "I can't take much more of this waitin'. You got somethin' bad t'tell me - lets just do it. It can't be much worse'n what I'm imaginin'."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Ratchet warned him. "His core processor was deactivated for a total of six point seven breems. Not just offline, but completely terminated."

"Which means what, exactly?" Optimus asked.

"There is a possibility that the data integrity has been compromised. His memory files, higher functions, core subroutines and even base programming may be corrupted to some degree."

"How likely a possibility?"

"Almost certainly." Ratchet admitted. "The longest I've ever known it to happen and have the mech recover was point two one breems, and there was significant damage then. This is considerably longer."

"The bond's still intact." Jazz said tightly, his visor so dim he appeared to be offline.

"And it will remain so." Ratchet agreed. "The bond is a connection between sparks, not processors."

"Which means what, in terms of their relationship?" Optimus asked, shocked.

Ratchet grimaced.

"Difficult to say. Potentially, the damage may be negligible. However, it is also possible that his spark is now attached to a processor with no more self-awareness than a drone. Either way they remain bonded, but the relationship may well be different than before. Until he is back online there is no way to establish what level of damage has been done, and there is a risk that if we force him back online we could do further damage. We simply don't know."

* * *

It did not take long for the story to circulate. Prowl was in voluntary stasis, but when he next came online he may have forgotten everything, everyone. Forgotten the war, forgotten his role in it. Forgotten Jazz.

Days passed, and everyone waited.

The medics insisted that it was still better for him to rouse in his own time - that that was the only way for there to be any hope at all. But the Protectobots knew from their brother how hopeless it likely was, and an overcharged Blades said more than he should have, so now everyone knew the full extent of this horror.

Even if he retained some memories, he may have lost the ability to function - to walk, to speak, to process sounds or images. If his core programming was corrupted he may not even be able to refuel or recharge without assistance. He could be trapped in a frame that he could not control, unable to tell anyone that he was aware.

Mechs fell silent as Jazz paced the halls, watching him for any sign that something had changed. Nothing did. The days turned to weeks; the weeks into months. There were more battles, duties to be carried out, missions to complete.

Jazz rarely left the Ark unless ordered, but he did not neglect his duties and even took on some of Prowl's. In his off-duty time, he took up vigil next to Prowl's now permanent berth in the isolation ward and remained there until he either collapsed in exhaustion or was ushered out by one of the medics. He never returned to their quarters, preferring to charge huddled on the floor near to Prowl.

* * *

Carly shifted uncomfortably, wishing she could leave. She understood Bumblebee liked to come and sit with Jazz for a period each day in moral support, and it had been her idea to accompany him today, but the whole thing was creepy. It was like visiting someone in a coma, but without the noisy life-support systems. Prowl simply lay there on the berth like a corpse, without so much as a fuel line attached to bring him back to them. How could they even be sure that he was still alive?

This was the fourth time she had been in here, though only the first that it had been for an extended period. Initially she had been concerned that she was trespassing - disturbing Jazz's time with Prowl. Yet Jazz did not seem to care one way or another. He never seemed to talk to Prowl, nor to touch him; he just sat on the floor and watched him silently. So weird.

Even as she thought that, he stirred and rose. She began to ask what was going on but Bumblebee hushed her and helped her up onto his shoulder as he stood, too. Jazz paced over to the berth, fingers trailing lightly over one of Prowl's stiff hands, but his focus was on Prowl's face.

Carly blinked in startlement - there was light in Prowl's eyes now. Only dim, but it was there when before it had been completely dark.

He twitched a little, and Jazz put out a hand to cup his cheek. The light strengthened and Jazz whistled something in pure Cybertronian. Bumblebee chirruped something too but did not seem to get a response. Prowl stared at Jazz for a long moment, then gave a short staticky answer before his optics dimmed again.

"Blue?" Bumblebee murmured. "Jazz? What did he mean?"

Jazz seemed frozen in place, and gave no answer.

"Blue?" Carly echoed. "As in Bluestreak?"

"I don't _think_ so." Bumblebee said slowly. "He used the word for the colour, not Bluestreak's nickname - the words are different in our language. But he inflected it weirdly, like it was referring to a person, so maybe..."

He broke off as Jazz said something else in their native tongue and Bumblebee nodded and turned towards the door.

"He wants some time alone. I hope you don't mind, Carly."

"No, that's fine. But is he okay? I mean, shouldn't we call Ratchet?"

"We'll tell him." Bumblebee agreed as the door closed behind them. "Maybe he can figure it out."

* * *

*Prowler? Talk to me.*

*Blue.*

Bumblebee was right, Prowl was producing a peculiar semantic combination with that word, personifying the colour. Only with the assistance of the bond did it make some sense: He was addressing the mech he loved as owner of the colour that symbolised their passion for him, the final piece of semantic content that had passed between them before his processor had crashed. Some shred of memory that he had retained.

*Yeah, sparkles, that's me. But can't you use my designation?*

Confusion filtered through the bond.

*Designation? Processing... error, error, cannot access file... Re-routing... error, error, cannot access file...*

He ducked his head away, hurt. Only the youngest of sparklings actually vocalised their subroutines. Prowl's use of them now suggested bad things.

*...error, error, error...*

*Halt process. Record and process: subject Blue equals designation Jazz.* he interrupted the increasingly agitated recitation.

*Processing... processing... data acknowledged... confirmed. Rewriting index. Index updated. Designation equals Jazz.*

*Confirmed.*

*Jazz. Query: designation-subject-of-origin?*

Jazz flinched. He could not help it. A mech's own designation was coded so deeply even hacking rarely reached it.

*Subject designation equals Prowl.* he responded, fighting off the overwhelming urge to wail.

And then he lost the battle as the confused patient gave him an innocent smile and spoke with confidence.

*Prowl loves Jazz.*

* * *

First Aid heard Jazz's keening and simply dropped what he was working on to rush towards the sound. Mostly Jazz had been a silent visitor in the bay, only occasionally singing or humming softly and then only for short periods at a time. This, though, was completely different.

He was only a few steps short of the room when Jazz burst out and fled, not responding to any hails. Disturbed, First Aid continued inside to find Prowl's optics were lit up. Was this, then, why Bumblebee and Carly had gone looking for Ratchet? Why had they not mentioned to him that Prowl was online?

"Prowl?" he called, beginning a diagnostic and relieved to see that much of the basic functional programming appeared to be intact. "What functionality are your diagnostics registering?"

*Query: designation-you?*

First Aid paused his scans to focus on him and responded in Cybertronian.

*Designation: First Aid.*

*Processing... processing... processing... unknown parameter, error, error, affix error 021847263#4. Function terminated. Reset. Query: designation-you?*

This was not good.

* * *

Spike put his arm around Carly as she shivered, the two of them trying not to get noticed in case they were sent out and missed out on what was happening.

"So." Optimus summed up grimly. "It is most likely that Prowl's entire memory core has been wiped and he has reverted to sparkling level processing ability, but with an unknown number of core programming errors which may or may not be resolvable. In addition, Jazz has left the Ark and is not responding to communications, and no-one even knows which direction he was headed in."

Ratchet's systems rumbled a little.

"Reprogramming an active mech is a tricky business. It's not like repurposing a drone. Besides, it may be too bad for that. We're waiting on final testing and I don't want to label it too soon, but this looks like it could be a core glitch."

The mechs looked grim at that, falling silent, and Spike leaned in to whisper to Bumblebee.

"What's a core glitch?"

The yellow minibot did not answer, but Prime did.

"A core glitch is one considered too fundamental to be repaired. Mechs with core glitches are generally deactivated."

"You mean you'd kill him? No! You can't _do_ that."

"That's awful!" Carly agreed. "He's Jazz's... uh, whatever he is. They love each other. And he's alive - isn't that what's important?"

"It ain't right to keep a mech functioning when he ain't got a purpose, darlin'." Ironhide tried to explain.

"Right now we can't even be sure he can access his learning protocols." Ratchet warned grimly. "He could be permanently looped at this level of comprehension."

"Even so, he's _alive_." Carly wept. "You can't just kill him. He's your friend!"

"I didn't know you could all be so cold." Spike agreed, holding her.

"You would prefer to function with such an impairment?" Perceptor asked. "With such restrictions?"

"We don't kill people because they're disabled - look at Chip! He's fine, even though he can't walk. It doesn't mean he's useless."

The mechs looked at each other.

"But Chip can still think." Bumblebee pointed out, finally. "He doesn't have a core glitch, just a physical one."

"I won't let you." Carly sniffed. "It's not right. It's not right."

Optimus shifted, then looked to Ratchet.

"Do nothing until we hear from Jazz. The final decision is his."

* * *

Jazz settled on the berth beside his offline mate, taking note of the monitoring equipment and being careful not to disrupt any of it. He did not want anyone to know yet that he was back.

It had taken him about half a joor of reckless driving away to realise that increasing the distance between them was only making it worse. At that point he had stopped and meandered about listlessly for awhile, always getting closer to the Ark. He had heard them calling to him, but had ignored them and had avoided the few who had chanced to pass nearby.

Eventually he had decided that it was time to return. It was not as though he had not been warned to expect this outcome: he had just hoped it would not come to this. And yet, Prowl's first word had been a link back to the past that he was not supposed to remember. What did that mean? Were there other things that he remembered too?

Well, even if there were not it made little difference. There were only two options: one, he had a core glitch and would have to be deactivated; or two, he would have to re-learn almost everything.

It was difficult to say which was worse. If it were the former, Jazz would then have to decide to either go with him or to attempt to survive without him - an attempt which may well still fail. If it were the latter, everything would be different.

_*Prowl loves Jazz*_ the words echoed in his processor and he reached out to stroke Prowl's cheek wonderingly. Surely that was enough? Surely all he needed was for Prowl to love him?

//I love you too, Prowler.// he whispered through the bond, but there was no response.

* * *

Ratchet headed towards the isolation ward to check on his patient, and was surprised to hear voices as he approached, particuarly since his monitors still told him that Prowl was offline and that no-one had entered the repair bay. Stopping in the doorway he stared in disbelief at the scene before him.

Jazz was seated at one end of the berth, Prowl sitting up at the other, a box of energon goodies between them. The wires that should have been monitoring him had been disconnected and coiled to one side.

Prowl spotted him in the doorway and cocked his head to one side.

*Query: designation-new-mech?*

Jazz twisted and gave a lazy wave.

"Oh hey, doc. Come an' say hello."

*Query: designation-new-mech?*

"Jazz? You know that half the crew is still out searching for you? When did you get back?"

*Query: designation-new-mech?*

"Awhile ago." Jazz said vaguely. "You gonna answer him? He's gonna keep askin'."

"We tried this yesterday - he's not taking in any new data. Jazz, I'm sorry..."

*Query: designation-new-mech?*

"Sure he is. Go on, try it."

Ratchet frowned at him, then decided to humour him.

*This-mech designation equal to Ratchet.* he responded.

Prowl froze for a moment, then dipped his head.

*Acknowleged. Greetings, Ratchet.*

Ratchet's jaw dropped.

"See?" Jazz drawled, handing over a goodie. "He jus' gets a little tangled sometimes when he gets flustered. We had a bit of a talk about it an' he's a bit more settled now. Doesn't even vocalise his processing anymore. Well, not mosta the time."

"How did you do this?" Ratchet demanded, striding over to find the right equipment to repeat his scans. "What did you do?"

"Not a lot." Jazz shrugged, reaching out to wipe a dribble of energon from Prowl's chin. "Jus' talked him through some stuff. He's real confused right now, but I explained he was hurt an' he has to be patient an' I think he's pretty much okay with that for now. Not _happy_, mind, but okay."

There was nothing. The scans still indicated that there was no activity at all in his memory core, none in any of the higher functional areas, in fact. He lowered the scanner and took a hard look at Prowl with his own inbuilt diagnostics, confirming his suspicions, then looked back at Jazz.

Primus but he hated being right sometimes.

* * *

Jazz shook his head, unwilling to even entertain the idea of what Ratchet was suggesting.

"No. You're wrong."

"I've scanned him four times."

"Then you're doing it wrong. He's _there_."

"No, he isn't. I wish he were."

Ratchet put a hand on his shoulder, but Jazz twisted away from that sympathetic gesture.

"He's there, he's learning, it's not that bad..."

"He's only recording to his temporary files." Ratchet told him. "It looks like an improvement, yes, but it's a false reading. Once the cache fills, he will start losing data again. He can't remember..."

"But he _does_." Jazz protested desperately, pointing back towards the ward where Prowl had been left in First Aid's care. "He remembers _me_. His first words when he came online were to call for _me_."

"Bumblebee says his first word was 'blue'."

Jazz shook his head in frustration.

"Bee didn't understand. It was part of the message Prowl was sending me when he... when I lost hold of him on the way back here."

"Then perhaps it simply stuck in his cache."

The answer was too reasonable and he railed against considering it.

"No. He knew it was me. He _knew_. He _knows_ me. He _loves_ me."

"Of course he does, you're his bondmate. But that does not mean the same as _remembering_ you. Jazz, I'm sorry, but it's only his most basic protocols working. There isn't even a hint of power going to the rest of his processors."

"Then _fix_ it."

"I _can't_." Ratchet growled, finally showing some emotion other than uncharacteristic compassion. "Don't you think I want to? If he had functional circuitry we could do something about the programming, maybe clean up some of the scrambled data. If it was just a matter of broken links I could replace them. But it's not. That's why mechanics aren't medics - it's _not_ just a matter of physical bits."

The rant went on, but Jazz did not listen. Did not want to. What Ratchet was saying could not be the truth, because then it would mean that it really was over. It would mean that Prowl had really gone, and all that was left was the decision over when his body and spark would follow his mind. Well he did not believe it. It could not end like this.

* * *

to be continued...


	3. Fading hope

Pairing: Prowl/Jazz

Disclaimer: Elton John & Tim Rice own 'Friends never say goodbye'; HasTak, etc., own Transformers and keep all the profits; I just write about them.

* * *

Chapter 3 - Fading hope

"Today's the day."

The whisper made it through the Ark at record speed, in spite of the fact that it never made it onto the message boards. The news was passed from mech to mech and everyone who heard understood what it meant with little more being said.

Some took it stoically. It was past time, they said. It should not have been dragged out like this. The whole process had been demeaning to the memory of the mech they had lost.

Some took it badly. Jazz was not the only one who had been in denial over the prognosis, and those affected were not always those who others had predicted. Bluestreak, yes, but Gears? And Cosmos?

A few were angry. How could Jazz have agreed to this? Should he not keep trying just a little longer? Yes, it had been nearly six Earth months since Prowl had first onlined and well over a year since the original injury, and yes it was true that every one of Ratchet's predictions about his condition had come to pass, but still it was such a short period of time. Barely one eightieth of a vorn. How could that be long enough to make this kind of decision about one's own bondmate?

Everyone was vocal about the decision in their own way; everyone except for Optimus, who quietly thanked Trailbreaker for passing on the information then went to his quarters and shut the door.

* * *

*Query: designation-new-mech?*

It hurt. Every time he walked in here and had to explain again who he was, it hurt.

*Designation equal to Jazz.* he responded automatically, and in spite of all the previous disappointments he still found himself looking for any hint of recognition as that 'new' data was assimilated.

There was none. When they touched Prowl sometimes gave a flicker of acknowledgement, but it was subconscious. It was just one spark responding to the other. There was no connection beyond that. Sometimes that knowledge hurt so much that he went days without daring to touch him at all, unwilling to see that burst of unconditional trust in those innocent optics even one more time.

But he always relented eventually. It was better than nothing, and he had so little left as comfort.

Prowl was now permanently attached to this berth. At first he had been able to process energon, though he had eaten only when prompted to do so. But each time his memory cache overflowed it corrupted some more of his already damaged programming, and he now had to be connected to other machines to do the conversion for him and to keep his pump functioning.

Not that he noticed. He noticed very little unless it was pointed out to him. It never even occurred to him to move more than his head unless he was directed to do so.

There had been several attempts to reboot his main processors, all failed. Wheeljack had built several elaborate contraptions to increase the capacity of his memory cache but those had failed too. Twice, they had managed to force power through the damaged circuitry, but the only effect had been Prowl screaming in pain which he forgot again the instant they stopped.

"So I guess this is it." Jazz murmured, slumping into the chair that he had spent far too many groons in recently.

Prowl cocked his head curiously to the side but made no comment. He could not understand anything beyond the most basic of mech-speak. He had even lost his Praxian accent and dialect, something that had sent Bluestreak into hysterics when that had been discovered: after all, that would have been hardwired into him before he was first activated.

"Logically I know there ain't any hope left." he continued dully. "We've tried everything. I know what you'd say if y'could: you'd say I gotta let you go. Whether I come with you, or stay behind without you, I gotta end this."

A machine on the far side of the berth whirred as it began its scheduled task.

"You'd also say I've gotta stay. Or maybe you wouldn't, but you'd think it. Bad enough the unit losin' you without losin' me too, right? Only... only I don't wanna stay here alone without ya, sparkles. So I keep on keepin' you on, even though..."

He stopped, tired of repeating the same old arguments. He had gone through this monologue before.

As time had passed he had talked more and more to fill the silences that he had never liked but always found tolerable in Prowl's presence. Sometimes he told him stories, spoke of the daily doings of the crew; sometimes he sang; sometimes he yelled or keened or just broke down and screamed.

The medics had learned to leave him alone, no matter what they heard, but Prowl... Prowl had never responded at all. Not a flinch, not a query, just that curious, vacant expression, waiting for the next instruction.

"I made a decision this mornin'." he confessed finally, staring at his hands. "Told Ratch. Told him..."

His voice cracked and he trembled.

"I can't keep doin' this, Prowler. There're mechs gettin' hurt because everyone's distracted, an' one o'these days someone's gonna get killed an' you'd hate that. You came in t'this unit to stop that happenin' an' if you knew someone got killed cause o'you it'd hurt you so bad. So it has to stop. _You_ have to stop."

His vocaliser began to emit a low keening and he struggled to get out the words he wanted to say.

"It ain't gonna hurt. Ratchet promised me. You'll go into recharge an'... an' y'won't know when it happens. I'll be wit'ya the whole time. It'll jus' be you an' me."

He glanced up and searched Prowl's expression for some sign that he understood. There was nothing.

*I love you.* he finished desperately, reaching out to clasp Prowl's nearest hand in both of his own.

Prowl twitched as the bond stirred between them.

*Processing... processing... acknowledged. Statement confirmed as valid. Prowl loves Jazz.*

"Yeah, but you don't remember me." Jazz whispered, pressing his helmet to Prowl's upper arm just below his wheel. "But it's okay. There won't be any more confusion now."

* * *

"You can't _do_ this!" Sunstreaker screamed, struggling to get to the closed door.

Sideswipe held his brother tightly, helping Ironhide and Trailbreaker hold him back. Everyone had heard Sunstreaker's increasingly vehement arguments over the past few orns, but only he really understood why his twin was so upset - after all they were the only other bonded pair here, though in rather a different way.

Sunstreaker just could not understand it, could not understand why Jazz would give up like this. Why he would betray their bond like this. But Sideswipe thought perhaps he could.

He had spent a lot of time sneaking into the repair bay and he had seen how hopeless it was. No matter what was tried, Prowl did not improve; in fact he was getting markedly worse. His memory was deteriorating as the temporary files became corrupted through continual use beyond their capacity. It would likely only be a few more months before he lost the ability to acknowledge any of them at all.

Yes, it hurt to lose him. And it must be hurting Jazz worst of all. But given the choice Sideswipe suspected he would be doing exactly the same thing. Well, except that he would never even consider outliving his twin. He had his doubts as to whether Jazz would actually emerge from that room on his own pedes, no matter what he had said about wanting to hold true to what Prowl would want him to do.

Still, in the meantime they had no right to interfere. As much as he knew Sunny was desperate to hold on to hope, they had no right to make this any harder for Jazz than it already was.

Even as he thought that, and pushed that thought relentlessly through to his brother, Sunstreaker broke free from the other two. Sideswipe made an attempt to slow his momentum but was cast aside and the last thing he saw was an elbow heading for his helmet.

* * *

There was a tune. Rather, a single musical phrase played in an endless loop so it was not strictly speaking a _tune_, but it was music. It was a long way away, and several times he lost track of it but each time it would return and he would get distracted by it again.

He did not want to be distracted. He just wanted to hold on and smother himself in the sense of his bondmate's presence until it was over, but the music was persistent and irritating.

Frustrated, he gave in and pursued it aggressively. It had to _stop_. Now was not a good time for any disruption and if he found that Blaster was responsible for this little snippet running around in his processor he was going to...

He paused.

The music was not coming from within his own processor. Or at least, not exactly. More like from his spark. And now there was a voice, too, so soft that he had missed it up until now. The voice was not in tune, more chanting the lyrics than singing them, repeating them like a mantra.

"...what is done has been done for the best... for the best... for the best... what is done has been done for the best... for the best... for the best... what is done has been done for the best..."

"Though the mist in my eyes might suggest..." Jazz provided the next phrase and suddenly the music vanished and he felt himself surrounded by the sense of something he was sure he had lost.

Prowl. _His_ Prowl. All the warmth and love and surety of the mech he had been bonded to for what felt like the whole of eternity. There was a relieved sigh.

"You found me, finally. It felt like I was waiting for vorns. That tune was driving me insane."

Jazz clung desperately, incoherent in his shock, and felt the other presence's dawning surprise.

"Why this grief? Jazz? What has happened?"

"You're here."

"Well of course I'm here. Where else would I be?"

"You're _here_. You're _all_ here. You always were."

The presence focused.

"Jazz? You're making no sense."

He laughed hysterically through his keening, unable to articulate his relief at hearing such an admonition. The presence was concerned, though.

"Jazz? Answer me. What is going on?"

"You're in my spark!"

"Well of course I am." the tone was indignant now. "As you're in mine. That should hardly be a surprise."

The horror was seeping in now.

"I could have saved you. If I'd realised. You weren't _there_. That's why they couldn't re-activate you. You were _here_."

"You're babbling. Calm down. You're drawing a crowd."

"A crowd?" he asked blankly. "Where?"

Prowl made an exasperated noise.

"Well you're not going to be able to see them if you don't online your optics."

* * *

Where Jazz had come from, he was unsure, but given that he had been sitting on this roadside numbly repeating those remembered lyrics for who knew how long he was hardly surprised. He had stopped watching the ones who walked past long ago. They had nothing to do with him and he wanted nothing to do with them.

The point was, Jazz was now here and it felt so good to hold him again. But his lover was so confused and so intensely upset. Clearly something terrible had happened. An attack on the Ark, during his absence, perhaps? He still could not access any of his recent memories, so he had no idea what the current situation was.

In his arms, Jazz stirred then his visor flickered and lit up and Prowl smiled down at him.

"You had me worried you'd damaged the circuitry. Why did you turn them off?"

Jazz stared at him for a moment, then clamped a hand on either side of his head and kissed him desperately. It was nice, if a little rough, but Prowl disliked being so blatant about their relationship with an audience and only permitted it for a few moments before disengaging.

"I missed you so much." Jazz whimpered. "I thought I'd lost you. I thought you were gone."

"Silly glitch." Prowl chided him, pressing a hand to Jazz's chest above his spark chamber. "How could I go without you knowing?"

Jazz ignored the words, suddenly on his feet and tugging Prowl up.

"We've got to go back. We've got to stop Ratchet."

"Stop Ratchet doing what?"

"He's killing you."

"You're making no sense again." Prowl complained. "I'm right here."

"No. No, this isn't real."

Prowl pulled his arm free and folded them, frowning at his bondmate.

"You're glitching. I'm not going anywhere and neither are you. You are going to sit down and calm down and explain."

Jazz began to argue, but suddenly he could not focus as what seemed like every circuit in his body began to hurt all at once.

* * *

Sunstreaker had pulled out most of the cables and tubes by the time they caught up with him. Neither Prowl nor Jazz seemed to have noticed: both seemed to be offline. Prowl had not greyed yet, Ironhide noticed, so he was still with them for now but it was only a matter of time.

The room was quickly filling with mechs - some trying to help Sunstreaker, others trying to stop him. First Aid was screaming for his brothers' help, trying frantically to reattach some of the connections.

"I didn't think you believed in euthanasia." Sunstreaker snarled at him.

"I _don't_. But it's Jazz's choice."

"He's not thinking straight."

"That's _your_ view." Perceptor told him frostily.

"Where's Ratchet?" Bumblebee demanded.

"In his quarters getting drunk." Wheeljack supplied the answer. "I've sent Blue to get him."

"You have to let me put this right." First Aid begged.

"And kill him?" Sunstreaker bellowed. "I won't let you!"

He pulled out a blaster and destroyed the three machines next to the berth then threw the blaster aside and turned to Ironhide.

"Put me in the brig if you have to. I don't care."

First Aid had sunk to his knees on the floor, horrified.

"What've you done?"

"Stopped you slaggers from killing him."

"He's dying anyway. But without those... it'll all just be pain!"

That stopped most of the movement in the room.

"What?" Sunstreaker asked blankly.

"We aren't doing anything to kill him." First Aid explained dazedly. "We just stopped trying to keep him _alive_. He isn't being poisoned or actively virused. You're not _helping_ by doing this. All you've done is take away the pain relief and the energon regulators that stop his lines from clogging. He would've gone peacefully, but now..."

* * *

to be concluded...


	4. The legend of Sanopi

Disclaimer: Elton John & Tim Rice own 'Friends never say goodbye'; HasTak, etc., own Transformers and keep all the profits: I just write about them.

A/N: Just to explain, I have a penchant for the idea that Prowl is a good deal younger than anyone (other than Jazz) would believe: he was not activated on Cybertron, has never been there, and does not have a lot of the pre-war general knowledge that most others do. Apart from that quirk, this 'verse is pretty much G1-standard.

* * *

Chapter 4 - The legend of Sanopi

"Prowl!"

One moment his lover had been completely composed, scolding him. The next he was on the ground and shrieking, spasming. Jazz grabbed at him and took several nasty blows before he managed to get him pinned down. The waves of pain pulsing through the bond were so strong they almost knocked him offline but he held on. He was not losing Prowl now. Not now that he had found him again.

It made no sense. Ratchet had promised him there would be no pain. He had _promised_ him that. So what was this? Some kind of delayed reaction to the original damage?

"Stay with me." he begged. "Don't you leave me now, not now. I can't bear it."

"Hello, I don't believe we've met?"

The unfamiliar voice distracted him and he looked up to see a grey and orange dockworker looking down at him.

For the very first time he actually took in their surroundings. They were in a Cybertronian city? He had heard of badly damaged mechs creating safe havens in their minds when they suffered extreme trauma, but this was remarkably detailed given that Prowl had never been on Cybertron in his life, let alone seen a functioning peace-time city.

"Who are you?"

"I am Greeter. Welcome to Sanopi."

Jazz had to move his arm to keep Prowl down but kept his optics on this stranger, now aware that there was a small crowd around them.

"Very funny. An' here I thought it was Iacon."

"You do not believe me."

"Slaggin' right, I don't. Sanopi doesn't exist."

"If it doesn't exist, how do you recognise the name?"

"It's a myth. A ghost story from before the war. It isn't _real_."

Greeter spread his hands, gesturing around them.

"Does this not seem real to you?"

"What's _real_ is that my bondmate is dying and I need to get him home. Now slag off and leave us alone."

"We could help you. He does not have to suffer like this. Just give him to us..."

"I said _go_!"

* * *

Ratchet stopped in the doorway, for once completely speechless.

When Bluestreak had burst into his room and dragged him back here he had already been angry. He had not wanted to be any more involved in this than he had to be. But to arrive and find _this_ was far worse than he could have imagined. Gritting his dental plates, he shoved his way through the crowd silently, not even able to swear and curse yet. He was too angry.

Prowl was twitching spasmodically on the berth, keening softly, mindlessly. Jazz was clinging to his hand, forehead pressed against his arm, unmoving. He may have drugged himself so he would not be aware when it happened, Ratchet considered. It was incredibly dangerous for non-medics to play with clinical drugs and usually he would have been prepared to tell the culprit why in excruciating detail, but at this moment it was probably a blessing.

The entire life support system had been destroyed, so there was nothing he could do with that. Normal circuit blockers would not work in this case - not until he could apply a large number of them, and that would take far too long. The tiny functional part of Prowl's processor was being flooded with data that it could not process, and it was likely looping so that even once the extremities were deactivated he would still 'feel' pain from them.

If Prowl's base function of cycling energon through his system were working, a chemical blocker may have had an effect, but that was not possible right now. Moving him to another room would not help - this had been the only support model that had been modified to work for his particular needs: it would take groons to set up another unit.

There were only two paths away from this. Either he could leave it to run its course, which it would do in the next breem or so, and the mech who had been Prowl would die in agony. Or he could end this now.

In truth, there was only one option.

* * *

"There's nowhere for you to go." Greeter told him calmly, following easily.

Jazz staggered a little but kept walking. Prowl's struggles had become little more than flinches and moans. He was so very weak, fading so very fast now. They had to get back, and quickly. If only he knew how to get out of here.

"He made his choice, and you stalled it once. That was impressive, but it was his choice and it stands. This time he stays."

It was remarkably believable that this was real, he mused, then shook his head hard. No. No it was not real. Thinking that way was how he would get trapped. He had to get back. But how, when he could not figure out how he had gotten here in the first place?

"Think of what we're offering. You can't take him home, he's dying there. Here, he will no longer have to know the sorrows of this terrible war you are suffering through. And when you die he will be waiting here for you. You will never be separated."

Jazz ignored him, still walking but also struggling to think. How had the story gone? It was so very long since he had heard it, and he had never been that interested in that kind of paranoid nonsense the first place.

It was something about dying mechs getting trapped in a city, losing their memories, dying before their sparks even faded. An old superstition about never going into battle without praying to Primus first to ensure they went straight to the Matrix and not to the pit, but also not to Sanopi where they would be trapped forever.

Suddenly he remembered how the story ended. He stopped and turned to face Greeter.

"It's not a story." he stated flatly.

"What's not a story." the mech asked pleasantly.

"You're here, between life and the Matrix, feeding on the fear of the mechs you catch."

Greeter smiled faintly in response.

"Prowl was different though, wasn't he?" Jazz pressed him. "He didn't know about you so he wasn't frightened, he was just confused. It's fear that traps mechs here. That's what the stories say. But Prowl doesn't _know_ to be frightened. You can't keep him here."

"But _you_ know." Greeter told him, his optics flickering madly. "And now you're starting to believe."

Jazz could feel something circling about him, even though he could not see it. All he could see now was Greeter. The city was fading, as was the light. It was just the two of them, and Prowl, and the things in the dark.

"Believe, yeah." Jazz agreed. "But that doesn't mean I'm scared of you. It just means I know what I've gotta do."

"Which is what?" the other mech scoffed.

"Offer myself in his place. I won't let you have him, but you can have me. I surrender myself."

Without waiting for an answer he knelt down and laid Prowl on the ground before him then shuttered his optics, leaving himself completely vulnerable, and began to sing.

* * *

Of all the things that could have happened next, Jazz starting to sing was not one that anyone present had expected. They had thought he was offline: he had certainly not responded to any of the chaos around him in the past little while. The fact that he had started to do so without any warning, and just when Ratchet was opening up Prowl's helmet to shut him down permanently, made it even more eerie.

"_What is done has been done for the best / though the mist in my eyes might suggest / just a little confusion about what I'd lose / but if I started over, I know I would choose / the same joy, the same sadness, each step of the way / that fought me and taught me..._"

"That friends never say goodbye."

The whispered words that finished the phrase seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. Then Bluestreak gave a cry and launched himself at Prowl, shoving Ratchet out of the way. Jazz raised his head stiffly as though his joints had seized and looked at Bluestreak blankly, then he smiled tremulously past him.

"Welcome back."

* * *

Optimus was the last to hear the news, having shut himself away to mourn in private. It was only when he emerged, having prepared himself to deal with the grief of his crew and to push them onwards for the cause, that he learned of the miracle that had occurred and had gone to the repair bay to see for himself.

By the time he was told, Prowl was offline. He was apparently still in pain - for reasons that Optimus did not truly understand, something to do with his temporary memory circuits - and his small energy reserves had been quickly drained by the way most of the Ark's crew had crowded in to see him and talk to him in the short period he had been online.

Ratchet usually restricted visitors to his patients quite ruthlessly, but none of this fitted any of the normal patterns and Optimus doubted that even the acerbic CMO would have been sparkless enough to send everyone away at such a moment.

The room was a mess, he noted as he arrived. Several pieces of equipment were completely slagged for no apparent reason and everything else had been shoved away to the walls or taken out of the room to make space for the visitors. Everything, that was, except for the one chair where Jazz was still sitting. The saboteur was uncharacteristically still, just intently watching Prowl charge as though it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. Under the circumstances, perhaps it was.

Optimus stepped into the room quietly, not wanting to interrupt the peaceful scene but needing to confirm for himself what he had heard.

"Is he...?" he began, but stopped as Jazz spoke at the same moment.

"He doesn't remember any of it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It ain't important, though. What matters is he's back."

"But how? All those attempts, all those scans, everything failed. How did he return? Why now?"

Jazz looked troubled.

"I dunno. When he first came online I think I knew but... the details are fading. I can't keep hold of'em."

"What do you remember?"

"It doesn't make sense." he was warned. "You'll think I'm crazy."

"Try me."

Jazz gave him a long considering look, then shrugged.

"A city. Somewhere on Cybertron, I think. A dockworker - old model, pre-war. He was following us. I... I was carryin' Prowl but I put him down for some reason and started singin'. An' they came after me and so he got away. Only... they couldn't have me because I wasn't supposed to be there at all. It was only because of the bond, an' if it weren't for that..."

He was frowning in confusion at his own words, then waved his hands in frustration.

"Ah forget it. It doesn't make any sense even t'_me_. I think I musta been glitching."

"Hardly surprising, given the stresses of all of this. But... He _is_ back? Completely?"

Jazz nodded, reaching out to gently brush a few motes of dust off Prowl's upper arm, fingers lingering a moment as though reconfirming the warmth there.

"Yeah. He's back. An' he's stayin'."

* * *

"Something come up?" Ironhide asked, popping his head into Optimus' office.

"Nothing important. Has there been any new information?"

Ironhide shook his head, striding casually inside.

"They're all arguing over the data, but basically they just don't know. Ratchet's declared him functional, anyway, so Jazz's taken him back to their quarters to get some rest - heh, and probably something more if he's got any energy for it, knowing those two - and pretty much everyone else's still celebrating in the rec room or charging. There're a few wondering why you're not doing the same, so I thought I'd drop by."

He glanced at the terminal Optimus was reading from, then did a double-take.

"Is that the legend of Sanopi? I haven't heard that story since... Primus, I don't remember when!"

Optimus leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

"Neither have I, but a couple of the things that happened today put me in mind of it."

"Like what?" Ironhide asked curiously.

"Jazz singing; Prowl suddenly being fully restored after the medics were convinced that there was no hope."

"Don't remember any singing in the story _I_ was told." Ironhide pointed out.

Optimus nodded.

"Agreed, but there are similarities. The story had it that the mech who went to rescue his mate from Sanopi offered himself in sacrifice in return for his lover's freedom. The exchange was granted, but then he also escaped because the ghouls of Sanopi can only take the dying and he was healthy. Jazz says he remembers surrendering himself to a mech in a pre-war city, and it would be very like him to sing to them. He's done it often enough to the Decepticons as a captive."

Ironhide smiled briefly, well aware of how Jazz enjoyed irritating his captors with constant noise, but then his smile faded.

"But in the story, the only reason Idaelti survived long enough to be rescued was that she was barely more than a sparkling and didn't know the danger she was in. And then the only reason they let her go was because they can only take a victim who knows what they are, but everyone knows the story these days. Half the crew still say their prayers when we head out, I've heard them. Never heard Prowl do it, but he's never been all that devout. So how's the story supposed to fit?"

"I don't know." Optimus frowned, then sighed and turned off the terminal. "Well, it's only a story. And what matters is that Prowl is recovering. Come on - lets go join the party. Its about time we had something to celebrate."

* * *

The end.

* * *

_There isn't much I haven't shared__  
With you along the road  
__And through it all there'd always be__  
Tomorrow's episode  
Suddenly that isn't true  
There's another avenue  
Beckoning, the great divide  
Ask no questions, take no side_

_Who's to say  
Who's right or wrong  
Whose course is braver run?  
Still we are,  
Have always been,  
Will ever be -  
As one._

_What is done has been done for the best  
Though the mist in my eyes might suggest  
Just a little confusion about what I'll lose  
But if I started over I know I would choose  
The same joy, the same sadness  
Each step of the way  
That fought me, and taught me  
That friends never say..._

_Never say goodbye  
Friends never say goodbye._

_

* * *

__  
_


End file.
